


Drinking, Dancing, Fluff and Bass

by storm_8



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_8/pseuds/storm_8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thought that entered Jane Rizzoli’s mind was that she was in Hell and it looked too much like Maura’s kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking, Dancing, Fluff and Bass

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the show or its characters. I merely borrow them for everyone's enjoyment.  
> All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also this is due to a set of tweets I read from kryssabelle's LJ list, so I thank you for that. Some sentences may be similar to those tweets, but I am merely using them for the purpose of the fic.  
> 

The first thought that entered Jane Rizzoli’s mind was that she was in Hell and it looked too much like Maura’s kitchen. She had a splitting headache and her vision was fuzzy when she opened her eyes, only to close them again because there was too much light and she felt nauseous.  
  
  
She tried twisting into a more comfortable position but was rather unsuccessful, seeing as she was lying on a cold tile floor and that was hardly comfortable no matter the circumstances.  
  
  
She let out a pitiful groan and opened her eyes again, starting the process of determining where she was, how she had gotten there and why she felt like death warmed over.  
  
  
The detective blinked to clear her fuzzy vision despite it only worsening her headache and took in her surroundings. She was indeed in Maura’s kitchen, more precisely on Maura’s kitchen floor looking into her oven and holding an empty jar of fluff in one hand.  
  
  
The woman groaned again and sat up very slowly. “This cannot be good…” She mumbled to herself, holding a hand to her aching head. She picked up her cell phone from the floor and checked the time.  
  
  
Just then a door opened somewhere in the house. Footsteps were heard and Jane saw her friend appear from around the corner. The woman seemed surprised to see her sitting in her kitchen. “Jane?”  
  
  
“Huh…” Was the detective’s response.  
  
  
The medical examiner raised an eyebrow, noticing her friend was holding onto an empty jar of fluff.  
  
  
“I have no idea where it came from…” Jane explained. “And for that matter I have no idea where these five texts…” She raised her phone “… from ‘Sam’ saying ‘Call me’ came from either. Call him for what?”  
  
  
“It’s a her, actually.” The blonde explained, getting a glass of water and then retrieving two pills from her purse sitting on the counter. “You gave your number to a ‘Samantha’ when you discovered she had season tickets to the Red Sox. Here take these…” She handed the pills and glass to the brunette, who managed a grateful smile. “Oh, and the fluff is between you and Bass…”  
  
  
Jane blinked stupidly. She  _did not_  want to know what had happened between herself, a jar of fluff and Maura’s pet. So she focused on something else. “So, were the tickets for good seats at least?”  
  
  
“Well, I believe you said something about ‘worth it’ as you wrote your number on her arm…”  
  
  
The detective remembered something along those lines, but there was another matter bothering her. “Why did you let me sleep on the floor? Was it my idea?” She carefully got to her feet setting the empty glass and jar on the counter and working out the kinks on her back. She noticed there was a card in one of her pockets.  
  
  
Maura looked a bit worried. “I… don’t recall. There was something on fluff and Bass’s size and location in the hallway… But I hate to be imprecise.” She frowned trying to remember exactly what had led to her friend sleeping on the floor.  
  
  
There was that topic again; fluff, Bass and herself. Jane grimaced, recalling that she had tried feeding the tortoise, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember more than that.  
  
  
“Okay… Remind me to never drink so much again.” She requested, running a hand through her hair, her headache receding somewhat. “But… one more thing… Why do I have this hotel keycard?” She waved the object around in the air.  
  
  
Maura snapped out of her daze of trying to fill in some of the gaps from the previous night and looked at her friend. “Humm… I have no idea, honestly… Maybe it belongs to that Samantha.” She smirked then. “For some reason, which I can’t quite understand, you were very taken with her…”  
  
  
Jane scowled and glared at her, more memories of this person coming back to her. She had indeed been quite cozy with that woman.  
  
  
“Although, I can’t seem to recall what she looked like exactly…” The blonde added pensively.  
  
  
“Exactly how much did we drink at Korsak’s birthday party?” Jane wondered. There had been a few… several… beers… shots… karaoke… dancing… She groaned again. “Please tell me I did not  _sing_  the Macarena or dance a tango with…” She trailed off, turning bright red and looking everywhere and anywhere but her friend.  
  
  
Maura grinned. “Well, I have to say you are quite the capable dancer. I wasn’t aware you knew how to dance tango. Although, the singing I would not try and repeat…”  
  
  
Jane furrowed her brow; her friend sounded far too happy about having danced with her. Shaking it off as a product of her still not fully functioning brain, she changed the subject. “Is there any chance that I could take a shower? I know I have some spare clothes in my trunk…”  
  
  
“Sure. I’ll go get them for you.”  
  
  
“Thanks. They are in a gym bag.”  
  
  
The medical examiner smiled and turned around to go get her friend’s clothes, all the while thinking about their sensual, even if drunk, dance.  
  
  
Jane watched her go, eyes trailing down the woman’s form before she could stop herself. She blushed again, remembering  _exactly_  where her hands had been on that figure the previous night. “Oh crap…” She muttered, disappearing into the bathroom “You are in trouble Rizzoli…”  
  
  
The African Spurred Tortoise, normally known as Bass, tentatively stuck his head out of his shell. He was more than happy to see the human who had attempted to feed him a white substance, vacate the premises.


End file.
